


Disengaged

by poni



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Choking, Crying, M/M, Non-Consensual Violence, Sadism, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 18:20:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17872385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poni/pseuds/poni
Summary: Dib takes a low, dirty shot at Zim. Then, he takes several more while he has the chance.





	Disengaged

**Author's Note:**

> invader zim fanfiction??? YES, APPARENTLY! i was sorting through my documents and found this uh... "gem" that i believe i wrote in 2015. i never posted it anywhere and only shared it between myself and my partner at the time, but it's going to see the light of ao3 now. this is completely unedited, as i sort of just wanted to preserve the 'of its time' nature. i hope you guys enjoy!

In every timeline and existence, Dib would have only a steady belief in justice and _justification_ to keep him from recognizing the consequences of his actions at the moment they occurred. His functions were locked into a single set, with any divergence digging unfamiliar claws into his skull until he was left with no option but to relent from it altogether. He returned to the same places, endlessly. To the same forest clearings and alleyways and rooftops and, always-

Always to Zim.

Their existences were rooted in the other’s, messy coils indistinguishable from each other. If he tore Zim from the ground, then the consequences would not be felt by his enemy alone. He knew that well, and it left him with no choice but to wonder just how he was going to pry every piece of himself away from the alien when the time came to be rid of him. Dib dreamed of that. The weight would be gone, finally. Everyone would see him for what he was: a master investigator and scientist. There would be a climax in his story, because there was nothing else that Zim could give him. He would be the epitome of his success, after having instead been the object of his frustration for years. And he would be gone. Dib liked thinking of that far less than he would want to admit. He denied it to his own face with the same confidence that he would anyone else’s. Zim would be gone, and Dib would be better off because of it.

‘Gone’ had a tendency to repeat a dozen times over every time he considered it. Dib chalked it up to want of the concept, not a fault in the structure of his desires.

That structure of desires had put him where he was now, as it blended seamlessly with his idea of justification. Shutting off the functions of Zim’s PAK itself had been easy, though there was the brief concern that he could have killed him by doing it. Brief had a vague definition, he was sure of it. A few nights without sleep dedicated to going over numbers and potentials didn’t count as a long time. It would be fine if Zim died, of course. Having an actual humanoid corpse in his bedroom would just be inconvenient, that was all.

Dib’s fist was curled, the tension a tug at his tendons. Zim’s voice was more distant than that pull, floating past him in furious rumbles and high shrieks instead of burrowing into his eardrums. Dib could see that he was poised to attack him. Could Zim see the same thing in him? 

When Dib swung his fist at his face, bony knuckles jabbing into Zim’s cheek so he could feel the alien’s clenched teeth on impact, he decided that he hadn’t been able to see it. Not clearly enough to prepare, anyway, if the exaggerated recoil was any indication. A vibration moved up his bones, the spread of pain in his hand nothing compared to the satisfaction of decking Zim in the face. Not for the first time, not for the last, but that was never important.

With the ache came revelation. There were no angels with a thousand eyes and wings or four horsemen as harbingers of doom. There was only himself and Zim, and it was odd how that sounded so similar to how things had always been. Here, though, there was imbalance. Their footing tended to remain the same, with nothing more than enough of a shift to thwart one plan or another. This time, Zim had completely lost his. Perhaps it was no more remarkable than any slip up prior, but Dib would revel in his sense of success and power for as long as he could. Zim was on the ground, and given his refusal to ever stay down, that left Dib with only the option to force him to stay there.

Which was why when Zim tried to scramble off the floor, Dib made sure he didn’t manage it. He pressed his heel against his chest, silent like he was claiming dominance over a dead foe. His opposition was on the ground, but no, no, he had not yet fallen. He would not have fallen until he was driven into the dirt a whole story below. 

“Do you _really_ think you can keep me down here, you disgusting worm creature? You’re going to regret it, the second I’m out of here! Zim does not belong on the floor, and will not stay here, you’re-” He grunted when the pressure briefly vanished, just to return as the beginnings of something harsher. “This is pathetic. Is this your idea of victory?”

“No, not yet.”

The ferocity of the first punch had seemed to have ebbed away, but it made its comeback even more vicious than it had been before. Dib drew back, though he left him with no time to get away. He had a moment to be grateful that Zim had caught him asleep at his desk, still dressed with steel-toed boots intact, because this would be nowhere near as satisfying without them. Physically harming him was only part of it, just a piece to keep him down, but it had no reason to be made unenjoyable.

For Dib, anyway.

Zim looked at him with narrowed eyes, silently daring him to do it, having full confidence that he was going to back down. Out of nothing but sizzling spite, Dib kicked him even harder than he planned to. There was a sound amidst the Irken’s yelp, a distinct crack that followed the immediate impact. 

“Fuck you!” The words were clear, spoken in broken voice or not. High pain tolerance for more familiar wounds couldn’t keep him from reacting, and it might have been subdued compared to how a human would respond to the same injury, but was no less gratifying to Dib because of that. Zim curled in on himself briefly, before laying out flat again when he realized how much worse the pressure made it. Every move he made was slower than it usually would have been, lagged by the spreading pain. Even as he prepared to push himself off the floor, he didn’t take his eyes off of Dib. 

The patterns that his human adversary followed did not include this. As much as Zim believed otherwise, he did in some way rely on things remaining some level of consistent. And they had almost always done just that, which was what kept things like this from happening.

There was no reason for him to be surprised by the sole fact that Dib would do this, yet he was. It was reasonable to think that he should never have been able to, but not that he never would if given the chance to exact his vengeance. He had changed since their first encounter. He was taller and smarter and angrier. Still, Zim had never feared him as deeply as he should have come to. It was another fault in his cockiness, and another fault that he was not going to acknowledge.

“Going somewhere?”

“Yes, I’m going somewhere. Somewhere _incredible_ , that you’re never going to see, because filthy worm children are not invited… to the incredible place, that I am going to,” he paused, but his silence had a tendency to be short lived. “That you are _not_ going to. Just me. Only Zim. Me.” Zim had one hand pressed to his side and the other against the floor. The tension through his entire body was clear, every fiber strained with the plan of escape. Dib should have let him go, because Zim didn’t want to fight him now. Maybe he knew he had already lost, and allowing him to leave to stew in his own defeat and fury would be punishment enough.

That was irrelevant. 

There was no reason for him to be surprised when Dib struck him again, directly against his sternum so he could feel his rib cage rattle, yet he was. The earlier pain was dulled, but not enough that he could keep from crying out when it reverberated to steadily healing bone.

“Why won’t you just stay down? You’re making this worse for yourself.” 

“Just what am I making worse, _Dib?_ ”

It was all difficult to name, but not because it wasn’t obvious. In every aspect, this was revenge. It did not manifest itself as something aiding his success or granting him new insight. He wouldn’t be rid of him through this, not with these methods. What he would get out of it was nothing more than pure satisfaction.

There was no spoken answer. Dib wouldn’t tell him; he didn’t need to know.

“You disgust me,” he said, the words enough under his breath that it almost seemed as if he might be hesitant in saying it. Dib tensed like he might kick him again, but instead decided to drag his foot down the alien’s abdomen. Despite having just broken one of his ribs the same way, feeling the give and squish of his stomach was far stranger. Zim was still weak in soft spots, not the creature of undefeatable potential that he played himself out to be.

“Oh, are you really one to be calling me disgusting? I wonder if you’ve ever looked in a mirror before,” Zim scoffed, but discomfort was obvious in each of his words. He was just indulging him to make his own victory sweeter, just playing games with him, that’s all it was, all it could ever be.

“Yes,” Dib replied, tone solid and heavy like lead. He was more confident in the answer than he had been the statement prior. This was his right, was his position to be in.

“It’s pitiful how mistaken you are.” Zim’s body tried to force itself into the carpet to escape the steady press of Dib’s foot, to no avail. It was sound pressure, and it was difficult to understand just what he was trying to accomplish by doing it. It wasn’t violent enough outright that he could pinpoint its purpose. 

“Is it? God, you’re the one who’s just a fucking pest.” Dib knew he wanted to be rid of him, but only in the realm of his imagination. He could settle for this, whatever forcefully unnamed thing it was. Exerting his authority was enough, when total victory had an uncertain appeal. He offset his balance, letting it rest squarely on the alien beneath him. “I think you’re the one who needs to do some re-evaluation of self.”

“Zim is not a pest.” He could at the very least be confident in that. He was a successful invader, no mere pest that could be dealt with and trampled to the ground. That had to be clear, regardless of the taunting making it seem otherwise. Dib was a fool to expect him to break or even falter over petty insults that held no meaning.

“I find that highly unlikely,” Dib replied. The chill in his tone was something of a mistranslation, when every part of his body was burning and each breath was hot like smoke, stirred from a fire lit in his stomach. He wasn’t necessarily the best at disguising intent, but that hardly mattered now. He dug the tip of his shoe into his belly, remembering then that there were reasons he so often made threats of vivisection. Zim made a soft sound of discomfort that made Dib feel all the more powerful. Any other feelings were not ones he felt like acknowledging. “I mean, you’re the one getting stepped on like a _bug_.”

“That means nothing!” He grabbed at Dib’s ankle, needlepoint fingers trying uselessly to dig past the leathery fabric of his shoes. “Enough of this. I’m tired of playing along with you.” 

“Do you think that your opinion matters to me?”

“Yes! My opinion is more important and valuable than anyone else’s. Now, move your f-” Zim gave immediate pause when Dib’s foot did move, taking his hands along with it. The human knew what he meant by ‘move’, and that he did not mean to just move it lower. His next inhale was sharp, in time with an awkward shift of his legs. “Stop that!”

As unaffected as he could possibly manage, Dib asked, “Stop what?”

“The- that! Stop doing that!” Zim dug his heels into the floor, subtly pushing himself backwards. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Dib shifted the ball of his foot, a deliberate and slow movement that Zim would not have the privilege of ignoring. It might have been an easier feat to handle another broken rib, which was something that Dib wasn’t necessarily above doling out again. How many did he have, again? He could break each one of them with ease.

“That! That, stop it!”

“I don’t take orders from you.” Dib was ecstatic, though he seemed near statuesque. Maintaining that was vital, though he hadn’t thought over why. “And you don’t take orders either, do you?”

“No! I don’t, that’s-”

“I guess that’s probably why your leaders don’t like you much.” Dib had wondered for some time just how Zim functioned in his own society, and how he got this assignment to begin with, after seeing just how he behaved on his own. Being entrusted with anything of importance didn’t seem like something that he could manage.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about.” There was a depth in Zim’s voice that was usually absent, but Dib could presume he had struck a nerve based on its appearance. “My Tallest adore me. I got this mission- which is very secret and important, by the way- because they know I’m the best!”

Dib’s first response was an impassioned hum. “Is that what you think?” He could make as many shots in the dark as he felt like. Truth was the basis of his existence, more proving it than anything else, but lying to Zim was far from an act against the weak moral code he possessed. “You must be trying really hard to make yourself believe that.”

Zim seemed confused, almost. Any insult that didn’t roll off his skin immediately was just going to be an odd foreign body within it, one he had very little chance of ever comprehending. He opened his mouth to speak again, just to snap it shut at Dib’s prodding. 

“Were you going to say something?” Dib smiled down at him, before forcing himself back into blankness. He should have stuck to hurting him, really. Zim would understand that, Dib would understand it, and when it ended it would be nothing that required questioning of motives. 

There was a moment of silence, that extended itself further than Dib had been expecting. Zim didn’t know how to respond to him, which was usually when sputtering and messy insults would take the place of clear remarks. They didn’t, this time. 

“I want you to stop doing this,” Zim finally said, the sentence a crescendo with a sudden, unexpected drop into near-silence at its end.

“That’s interesting,” Dib answered, as if he was taking somewhat disinterested notes. “Why?”

“I don’t- I don’t like it.” The desperation rolling off of him was unfamiliar, to both of them, but Dib took far more pleasure in it than Zim ever could.

“Is that right?” He had no time to wait for a response, instead dragging his foot down again and watching the way Zim pressed into it despite the revulsion across his expression. “It seems like you do.”

“I don’t! Stop trying to lie to me, it isn’t working!” Everything about Zim in that moment was like a wild animal facing its gory demise from a far more fearsome predator.

“How ashamed of yourself you must be.” The statement was broad, eclipsing all aspects of this and things existing outside of it at once. Dib’s pattern was one of circles, drawn out in varying amounts of pressure, but sickening and constant all the same.

Zim squirmed against the floor, his hyperventilation both visible and audible. He had his eyes clenched shut. No matter what attempts he made to block all of it out, his nerves still continued to respond. “I’m-” Inhale, taking the place of what would have been a moan, “Not. I’m not.”

“You’re not? Do you think that anyone else who saw you would be?” Dib bent down slightly over him, casting a larger shadow over his form. 

“I don’t care!” Zim sounded so much less sure of himself than he should have, and he hated being aware of that. 

“I’m sure.” There was a point, one considered that of no return, and perhaps Dib had already passed it by. “Still, they would care. Your Tallest would think so badly of you if they knew about this. Do you have to tell them everything in your reports? How often you _fail_ , how often you miss chances, about _this_?”

The question was answered with a gasp, like a desperate search for air where there was none, and Dib was fully ready to insult him for it before he noticed what it was accompanied by. Illuminated by blue lights, he saw the tears that slipped from Zim’s eyes. It made him feel a bit sick. He had never seen him cry. Not once had anything pushed him that far, and Dib hadn’t even been sure he was able to cry at all. The sickness was not all physical. He felt sick, as a person, for finding the missing scale in his rival’s shining coat.

His ability to not care about that was remarkable. There were knots in his stomach- hot, coiling things that made him nauseous and made him want to fuck Zim to the point that he sobbed at the same time.

“Are you crying?” he asked, sounding small compared to all the words before.

“No! No, I’m not- I don’t- you’re- don’t ask me things like that!” Each pause was painful to hear, so utterly weak and pathetic in the way they were nothing more than audible cracks in his resilience.

“I’d really like to be sure,” Dib said, watching the mess of reactions Zim had to his disconnected touch. He was arching and squirming and choking and moaning, lacking the will to control any one of those things. “But I already knew the answer. You’re worthless, Zim. Of course you were going to cry when someone told you so.”

Zim wasn’t looking at him, or at much of anything. He saw very little through the blur of tears, and scrubbing at his eyes with his gloves did nothing but make it worse. 

“Don’t do that. I want to see you cry,” Dib murmured, such authority in nothing more than that.

Zim shook with remarkable violence, even more so when he heard his own broken moan of Dib’s name. 

“Do you like this? Do you get off on it?”

Zim wept so beautifully, and Dib couldn’t help but take note of the fact he didn’t try to wipe those tears away anymore. He shook his head, denying every sign that pointed out his lie with that movement. They two of them could share that ‘no’. Dib would say that if asked the same thing where he stood.

He was careful when he moved, but his coat still flared when he knelt down over him. Dib restrained his grin at Zim’s needy cry with loss of his touch. He could kiss him, if he wanted to. Maybe he did. But there was no place for soft press of lips here. There was no place for anything soft. His hands were hot, and he could feel them cool ever so slightly when they wrapped right around Zim’s neck.

Dib hadn’t been expecting him to simply accept that, and was glad when he was right to have done that. Small hands pulled at his wrists in every direction, searching for the one that would give. His lungs still tried to let him sob, and his body moved with the effort. He had nothing more than sharp wheezes to keep him breathing. 

“How long can you go without breathing? Longer than the average human, maybe?” The question would sound more legitimate if not for everything around it. He would take notes on it, of course, just not now. Strangling Zim wasn’t his intention, not _fully_.

Zim kept tugging, even as he felt the lack of air make everything harder. He thought it over as much as possible, assuring himself that Dib wasn’t going to kill him. He was too much of a coward to take his life. That was a weak comfort. The dizziness was all-consuming, like a complete static fuzz over his being. It felt horrible, burning him alive while his fingers got colder, and he hoped with all of his being that if he did die, it wouldn’t be with the lingering thought that he still wanted Dib to touch him. He could almost be glad that he didn’t have to see Dib now, probably staring him down with complete glee.

Dib wondered what it would feel like to take someone’s life so closely, with their pulse ceasing beneath his palms and body becoming still.

Zim wondered what it would feel like to die, with his struggles weakening to the complete nothing that they had meant throughout all of this. 

Death did not come for him. 

Nothing sounded clear, everything existing as rustling nonsense, but he could make out shouting that was not his, nor Dib’s. After a seemingly endless string of failures, GIR had come through for him. At least, he assumed that was the case. He might be hallucinating in a subconscious attempt to maintain a feeling of hope.

The hope was not in vain. His PAK was functional, returning like a sense that had been missing. Whatever system had kept him down was dismantled, and would not ever be anything else again. Dib’s grip had loosened in the surprise of GIR simply being there, and even with his thoughts stirred so messily, Zim knew he had a chance.

He took it. He usually failed, he usually missed chances, but this time he didn’t. Zim pulled himself away with his metal legs, machine extensions making up for the weakness still present in him. Everything still hurt, body and pride, but he could breathe again. Never had single breaths felt like such a gift, but it would take him only a short time to take them for granted again.

Dib stared him down, expecting him to take a shot at him. That would be fair.

Instead, Zim backed away from him. He was like a deer, poised gracefully on long legs and stricken with fear. When Dib prepared to stand, he was gone without another glance. He didn’t even try to shout insults to get weak payback.

He just ran. He couldn’t make himself fight back in whatever state this was. Panic, horror- any number of things.

And Dib had not defeated him.

**Author's Note:**

> i don't have any social media for being a freak so... if you want to find me somewhere, i'd recommend blasting britney spears with a boombox in the middle of a forest at night and seeing if i show up.


End file.
